


His noble words revealed to my soul a new world

by raspberryhunter



Category: Don Carlos | Don Carlo - Verdi/du Locle/Méry
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Even in non-supernatural AU Charles V is still really odd, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Posthumous letter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-25 07:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14972360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberryhunter/pseuds/raspberryhunter
Summary: Rodrigo makes one last bid to fulfill his responsibilities to the King, to protect the Queen, and to protect his Carlos, even after his death.This time, he is successful.





	His noble words revealed to my soul a new world

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to zdenka and iberiandoctor for helpful discussions and general enabling :)
> 
> Title from Philip's Act IV Lachrymosa lament for Rodrigo ("Sa noble parole a l'âme révélait un monde nouveau"), which is not in all versions ~~but should be~~. Thanks to zdenka for the text!

Rodrigo surveyed the documents and plans on his desk with a sort of grim satisfaction. All was almost ready. 

He thought, Carlos, my Carlos, what will happen to you when I am gone? His sacrifice would save him, would save Flanders, would save Spain; and yet, he feared for his friend. He had asked the Queen to watch over Carlos, and he still worried, as he had worried and cared for his friend all the days of their friendship. 

And, as he thought of the Queen, Rodrigo worried about her as well. He had just had an audience with her in which he had told her all of his plans. It had ended in tears for both of them, which he had not anticipated. There was something in her that he recognized as a kindred spirit. It was not just their love for and dedication to Carlos, though in that they were also united. But in her integrity, that integrity which meant he trusted Carlos' honor to her absolutely, he saw the ideal of what he himself hoped to be. Had she been born a man, he thought, ah, what a knight she would have made! And though she was no knight, he had seen something of the struggles and the heartbreak of her life, and knew that her strength and courage were no less than his. She had even offered to plead before the King for him, though he had told her in no uncertain terms that this would only doom her, without saving him. 

If only the King could see her courage as well!

_Who will watch over her when I am gone, poor protector though I have been myself?_ She was strong, but he knew well that even strong oaks broke; even the most courageous of knights might fall in the end.

He thought, I will put in one more safeguard. One more measure, in case his plans went astray, in case the King's anger roused again towards Carlos, or the Queen. Yes, and it would fulfill another task that he would not be able to carry out now in person, not after he was accounted a traitor.

Rodrigo picked up his quill and held it motionless between his fingers. _I am almost done, now._ One or two arrangements he had left to make after this, and then he would be ready: he would lay the trail for Carlos' documents to be discovered upon him, and then he would face the death that was sure to come.

****

The page Thibault was grieving over Posa's death. He found himself melancholy at odd times, or he would be performing a duty and suddenly remember Posa was dead, and stand still for a minute before he was recalled to his business. 

Posa had been the best of the court. So many of the knights and courtiers were discourteous or duplicitous, or both; Posa had been neither. He was one of very few in the court who remembered all the pages' names, and he had always had a kind word and sometimes even a coin for Thibault.

But there, it was evening already and he had not delivered the letter Posa had given him. It was true it had not been his own fault; he had been unable to catch the king alone, as Posa had asked. But Posa had also asked him to deliver the letter quickly -- for the sake of the Queen, he had said -- and Thibault knew the King was searching for the Queen even now. 

In any case, Thibault thought, cheering, there came the King with the Grand Inquisitor and his monks: the one was blind, and the others did not ever seem to speak, and that would have to be good enough. As the King hurried by, Thibault intercepted him and bowed deeply. "Sire," said Thibault, holding out the letter with a flourish, "a letter for you." 

"Not now, good page," King Philip said, shrugging him off with a distant, troubled glance; "we are in haste."

At any other time Thibault would have held back, but his duty to Posa and the Queen drove him on, even against the King's words. He continued holding out the letter. "Sire. It is a letter from the Duke of Posa."

At this, the King recoiled from Thibault as if he had been holding a snake. "Posa! How can this be?"

"He wrote it," Thibault said, "before his death. He instructed me carefully that it was only to be given you if he were dead." There were more instructions, of course, that he did not tell the King. In his mind's eye he saw Posa, regarding him intently, as if he were trying to tell Thibault something that he could not say in words: _Give it only to the King if you have sure knowledge that he thinks me innocent._ Posa's words had made no sense to him at the time; only when the gossip started reaching his ears -- _Posa a traitor! No, the Infante showed the King that Posa never was a traitor! Posa was loyal! Ah, the King grieved for Posa, did you see?_ \-- had he started to understand.

The King was still looking at the letter in Thibault's hand, a strange look, as if he both yearned to take the letter and feared it. Thibault's arm was starting to get tired when finally the King plucked the letter from his fingers.

"We must go," the Grand Inquisitor said to the King, and at his voice Thibault shook and thought that perhaps he had made a mistake after all. He did not want to bring the Grand Inquisitor's attention on himself, regardless of his being blind. It was said he never forgot a voice.

"Wait," said the King distractedly, breaking the wax seal with his fingernail and unfolding the letter. As the King's eyes flicked down the paper, Thibault saw the expression on his face change, become a complex mixture of grief and pain. "Wait."

Thibault, now that there was nothing to hold him, fled.

*

_Sire,_

_If you are reading these words, it is because I have been slain as a traitor to the throne. If you have read any further than this line, it is because you have discovered or have listened to your heart that I am no traitor, that I bear as great love and loyalty to you, O King, and to Spain, as I always have, as any man has._

_I do not write this to blame you in any way. You are a King, and I have arranged it such that it seemed my treason was sure, that there was no other path for me but death. On me, and me alone, be the fault for it._

_But Sire, of my duties to you I have left one unfinished, and I write this letter now in part to discharge that task, so that I may face my death with nothing left undone._

_You asked me to delve into the Queen's heart. I have done so, but I have not told you what I have found. I have spoken at length to her. I know her heart well. Is it surprising that she still has affection toward the man to whom she was once affianced, or that she keeps his portrait? Rather should it be a testament to her noble heart, that she does not forget those whom she loved. But I know also that she would never betray you. She has the most honorable of spirits, and is loyal forever to you. I swear it on my eternal soul and my hope for salvation._

_I ask you to read and believe these words, if you believe nothing else I have ever said. Your Queen is innocent of any wrongdoing against you. Your son has not betrayed you with her. Her heart is pure, and she cleaves only to you. She has never lied to you, and never will._

_Sire, if you will excuse me for my great temerity, I will be so bold as to speak to you for one moment as one man to another. For the Queen, whom we all respect and adore, is also a woman. Women are as flowers that bloom in the garden. If you treat her with kindness, with tenderness, ah! like a flower she will bloom under your hand, and other loves will be but memories. But with harshness, with neglect, she will wither and turn away from you. I fear for her, that she has seen only harshness from you, who ought to have been the most tender of all men towards her. Humble yourself before her -- let her see you as a man -- a man who loves her._

_I will pass now from this subject, and go on to Carlos. Sire, he is your son. All bonds of family feeling that are given us from God, all laws of God and men, dictate that we pardon our sons, that we show them mercy. Was not our Lord Jesu himself raised up by his Father in resurrection and sits at his right hand? For this I took Carlos' sword, that you would not slay him, nor him you, against all dictates of familial piety. And for this also have I caused my name to be dishonored and my life to be taken, that Carlos would live. O do not let my sacrifice be in vain! Show him that love natural to hold for a son, and he will submit to you as a son should to a father._

_I beg of you, Sire, if ever you loved me, listen to me now. Not for my sake -- for what will I care, now? -- but for yours, for the sake of your immortal soul. Perhaps the Grand Inquisitor can pardon you before God. But can he erase the stain from your heart? If the Grand Inquisitor ushers you into Heaven, will it be Heaven for you, knowing what you have done?_

_You know by now, if you have been given this letter, if you know enough not to have cast it aside, that I love Carlos well, that he is of all men the most dear to me, the beloved of my heart. I will not deny it. But were he as much my enemy as he is indeed my friend, my plea to you would still be the same. Search your soul, my King, and there you will find the answers._

_I will also once more plead for Flanders. I have your answer already, so I will forbear from speaking too much on this. And yet — and yet — if it is ever in you to show clemency to that people, know that you will be addressing the dearest wish of your Posa's heart. Be the savior and light of those people._

_Be a light to the world, my King._

_I remain always your liege man,  
Rodrigo, Marquis de Posa_

*

The Grand Inquisitor had fidgeted and frowned as Philip read the letter, and then read it again. "Quickly! What are you waiting for? I do not know why you hesitate, King, except perhaps that there is secret sin in your soul."

Philip's hands trembled as he folded the letter up and tucked it into his doublet. He said softly, "Words from the grave are not to be trifled with."

The Grand Inquisitor frowned deeply, but only said, "Then let us get the Inquisition's soldiers and hasten to San Yuste. I fear lest we are already too late."

Philip and the Grand Inquisitor collected the soldiers and made their way to the cloister of San Yuste with all haste. But when they arrived, they saw only Elisabeth, sitting alone, gazing off into the distance as if she were looking at something only she could see. The Grand Inquisitor ground his teeth. "Too late! I knew we had taken too long on the way. One bird is flown. But yet there is still one remaining, one sacrifice to be had, as Jephthah's daughter. O Queen, why are you here?"

"I came," said Elisabeth, facing both of them, a flame in her eyes, "to say farewell to my son. There was nothing evil in what I did, and no betrayal."

The Grand Inquisitor chuckled, a low dark sound that Elisabeth flinched away from, and even Philip drew back a pace. "Will you," the Grand Inquisitor said, "do your duty, O King? Your Queen is here, unchaperoned, alone. She admits that Carlos was here. Can you deny that she must be given over to the Inquisition?"

Everything was completely still. Rage and fear began to rise in Philip. Carlos, always Carlos! Elisabeth had betrayed him. Of course she had. She had betrayed him, and lied to him -- He took a slow step towards her, and Posa's letter rustled where it was in his doublet, next to his heart. He stopped. _She has never lied to you, and never will._

The Grand Inquisitor folded his arms. "Will you do your duty, King, and give her up to me?"

Philip closed his eyes. He thought of the letter. He thought of Posa. 

_I beg of you, Sire, if ever you loved me, listen to me now._

"I will not," he said. 

Elisabeth gasped. Philip opened his eyes and looked at her. He knew then, seeing her face, that she had fully expected him to give her up, that she had only expected that harshness from him, and his heart turned cold within him. Posa was right, he thought, he was right; what else had he been right about? 

Philip turned to the Grand Inquisitor. "You asked me to give you Posa," he said, "and I gave you his death, the death of a man God had given me. No more. The Queen lives. She will not be a sacrifice."

The Grand Inquisitor frowned. "We will speak of this later," he said in a low voice. "In the meantime, let us go after Carlos. He cannot have gone far. Your guards will find him; they will deliver him up to me, and --"

"No," said Philip. It was easier the second time.

Perhaps it was not too late for him and his son to somehow reconcile, as Posa had thought; or perhaps it was indeed too late and they would meet again, and one of them would fall and the other would be damned. But either way, he thought, he would not give Carlos up to the torture and the fire. That much he would do for his son.

"King," the Grand Inquisitor said, deceptively mildly, "I was not the one who first wished this sacrifice. And think: when I testify of how we found her, alone --"

"She was not alone," said another voice, a monk, face shadowed by a deep cowl, who had come up to them, unnoticed.

"The voice of the Emperor!" the Grand Inquisitor muttered, his blind eyes vainly peering at the monk. Philip, aghast, said, "Father?" and removed his hat, kneeling before him.

"I myself was with them," said the monk that Philip now knew as Charles V. "One from the world came to this cloister. He found a monk, not knowing who that monk was, for all here are equal in the eyes of God. He asked that brother to be present at this time, to bear witness. And so I came to see a son and a mother meet and bid each other farewell. No word nor touch came between them except that proper to a mother and a son."

Philip, still kneeling, burst out, "But why wait to speak? Why not have spoken as soon as we came, and not risk the suffering of the innocent?"

The monk put a hand on Philip's head. "My son, all must choose their own damnation or salvation, and the wheat is cut along with the tares. Cease your vain strife. The peace you seek comes only from God." And with those words he was gone, a shadow among the other shadows.

The Grand Inquisitor shuffled away, muttering to himself, but Philip did not see it. All his attention was on Elisabeth, who had sunk down to the ground, weeping. He put his arms around her; she kept her face turned away from him. "Elisabeth," he said. "Elisabeth."

He did not know if she wept for Carlos, or for herself, or for him. He wanted to ask; he wanted to demand if she was thinking of Carlos; but he remembered Posa's words, and did not. And as he held her, she turned towards him, her head against his breast, still sobbing, the first time she had ever done so. He started to understand then that she wept for all of them, for Posa as well, for all that had been lost and wasted; and he began also to weep, as he had not done in years, his tears falling into her hair as he clung to her in that dark place.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The World His Words Left Unrevealed (the Heart of Flame Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15986420) by [iberiandoctor (jehane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane/pseuds/iberiandoctor)




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